


Pocket

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of Tom's summertime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Tom isn’t particularly fond of wearing Muggle garments, but he doesn’t have much choice. In the midst of the Muggle streets, robes won’t garner the same respect he’s used to. His leather jacket is laced with warming spells, and his arms are crossed more against the crowds than the cold. The breeze is ruffling lightly through his dark hair, and he finds himself trudging through one cloud of smoke after the next. 

It’s too late for this. The alleyway he walks out of is shrouded in nothing but shadows, and the tall buildings are too much for even the stars to get in. Half the streetlamps on this block are broken. The next club Tom passes streams red light onto the sidewalk, and Tom tries not to waste so much energy on a sneer. 

It’s too late to be wandering this long without direction. He’s a meticulous planner, and being left in the reality of his hardships isn’t at all a nice way to spend the night. He’d spent so much time muddling through the complexity of Horcruxes that he, perhaps, didn’t plot his summer as well as he should have. Somehow he didn’t think it would be so difficult to find an apartment somewhere, under some fool who wouldn’t care if he’s underage, and who wouldn’t notice the strange people Tom might bustle in and out. If he could just Imperius one without the Ministry finding out, this would all be easier...

But the Ministry, unfortunately, is still an obstacle: not one wise to mess with just yet. Tom fancied himself clever enough to not need magic. He has several means of getting his way, all of which rarely fail him. This is one of those odd times where nothing seems to be working, and Tom finds his stomach turning more and more with every footstep, building up acid.

There’s no point being angry. He’s angry, anyway. He’s wearing a thick scowl when he turns the next corner, disappearing between the shadows of another two tall buildings. As he passes the first dumpster, a fowl little man peers up at him, and Tom actually _wants_ the man to try and mug him; Tom wants a fight. Tom wants an excuse to paint the black pavement with Muggle blood; if he just used his fists, he’d never be caught.

...But that’s a thought that crosses his mind too often, and if he did it every time, he’d have more Horcruxes than his soul could manage. 

There’s an old, beaten doorway at the end of one of the buildings. Tom steps into it, ducking under the too-low overpass. He doesn’t bother to go any further. The man at the end notices him and stands up quickly, wiping at his nose and coming over. 

Tom doesn’t ask. Tom doesn’t care. What sort of sordid affairs his followers get up to is their business, so long as they’re still able to serve when he needs them. The man stops after two steps forward, because Tom drawls coldly, “Interesting to know that the great Malfoy heir spends his summers cowering in back alleys.”

Abraxas winces. He mutters by way of explanation, “I didn’t know when you’d be done...” Then he just sort of trails off with a particularly useless shrug. Tom tries not to glare too many daggers. 

He left Abraxas in a pub down the street. Apparently, Abraxas can find his own problems. Though, he doesn’t look that rough. His blond hair is pulled tightly back in a ponytail, and his features are as clean and handsome as usual. He straightens out his expensive jacket while Tom debates different lies.

In the end, he settles on nothing; he doesn’t owe anyone any explanations. “I’ll be staying at the manor.” He tries to make it sound like his preferred decision and not simply a lack of options.

Abraxas does a poor job of stifling his grin. “I’d be honoured.”

Abraxas shouldn’t be. It’s paid for with family money, not his own hard work, and if any of the others had better homes, Tom would go there instead. Malfoy simply happens to posses the most money and the least nosy parents, and that’s just that. Tom doesn’t bother to say it, though; diplomacy’s one of his many talents. 

Instead he simply holds out his black-glove-covered hand, waiting for Abraxas to place the Portkey in it. Then his fingers close around the diamond and Abraxas’ palm, and he’s whisked away by the navel.


End file.
